


Love Played In Adagio

by whispersofafangirl



Series: Sherlock and Abby [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, F/M, Meet-Cute, Sherlock AU, Shyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispersofafangirl/pseuds/whispersofafangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU University: Sherlock and my OFC Abigail Hudson meet under different circumstances. He's an upperclassman and tutor and still dealing with bullying and she's a shy exchange student that isn't having much fun in England. They meet and share some shy, awkward moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

My year abroad for university was not working out how I had hoped. Before I left for England, I had this idea that I would make a bunch of lifelong friends, maybe meet a few cute boys, and of course, transform into a sophisticated adult in the process.  
  
I was wrong.   
  
I thought that my host, Beatrice, would help me meet people and perhaps be a good friend to me. Wrong again. The only good things about England, I soon found out, was that I got to make the train ride into London to stay with my Aunt on any weekend I wanted to.   
  
Beatrice Parker came from old money and the sort of family that looked down their noses at all of the other peasants that walked the earth. While I never grew up hungry or without anything I needed, I was considered 'new rich' and that was only a slight step up. She was everything I wasn't- exceptionally beautiful, a perfect wardrobe, and popular without effort.   
  
I don't know why she signed up to participate in the program or why she would have even wanted an exchange student to stay with her and three of her equally snobby friends. Perhaps, she thought it would be novelty. Maybe she thought she'd get more attention just from dragging the "American girl" around. She was wrong.   
  
The townhouse that we lived in was just on the edge of campus. It was comfortable and lovely, albeit a little too feminine for my taste. I couldn't and shouldn't complain but honestly, I would have been happier sharing crappy flat with nice people than the situation I was in. My situation was forcing me into throwing myself into academics and orchestra which I guess was ok but not as much fun as having a social life.   
  
I dreaded going home everyday. It was a lonely place and I delayed it as much as I could. So by the time I walked home, it was usually sunset. I'd walk in and go straight to my room until dinner time or at least until I heard the group of girls head out for the night.   
  
But this evening was different. When I walked in, I heard a man's voice berating Beatrice like a little girl.   
  
"Miss Parker, if you would only invest as much time into your studies as you would drinking and gallivanting around with the rugby team, you wouldn't be failing," a stern, deep voice said.  
  
I held back a laugh because it was the truth and in the two months time that I was here, I had never heard someone give Beatrice a difficult time.   
  
"Abigail?! Is that you?" Beatrice called out, ignoring the man.   
  
I walked into the kitchen and saw Beatrice sitting with the man. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. "Do you need something, Beatrice?"  
  
"Your Aunt sent you a package," she said, pointing to the counter. "Sherlock, it is none of your business what or who I do in my free time."  
  
"No, it's none of my business who you do," he corrected. "But if you aren't studying and are failing, it is my business. That is what your father hired me for."  
  
I realized I was staring at him when he looked up at me. The brightest set of blue eyes I had ever seen were now glaring at me. I fumbled for the package on the counter, turning away so I didn't have to look at him anymore. Whoever this Sherlock was, he was intimidating.   
  
I toyed with the package and ran my finger under the tape. "Thank you," I mumbled as I walked out of the room and into the sitting room. I know it wasn't nice but I so desperately wanted to hear him continue to give her a hard time and I wasn't disappointed.   
  
As I opened the package, I listened to him go on and on about the importance of the paper she had to write and how much she should be ashamed of herself for putting her academics last. I pulled out a scarf that my Aunt had knitted for me with the note that read- "It's going to get cold and I've always thought blue was your color. Also some candies and biscuits for you. Love- Auntie". I smiled as I wrapped the scarf around my neck.   
  
Sherlock walked by and we looked at each other again. He was dressed too nicely for a student, dress trousers and a button-down white shirt that was obviously tailored to fit  him. He raised his eyebrow at me and I dropped my eyes, embarrassed that he had caught me staring at him.   
  
"Nice scarf, Abigail" he said but I didn't know if it was a compliment or sarcasm.   
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Goodnight," he said before leaving.  I looked up and watched as he left and thought to myself, what an odd man.   
  
*****

  
I overslept the next day which meant I had to stop in the cafeteria after my first class for some much needed coffee and something to eat. I looked around for anyone I knew but I only saw Sebastian Wilkes and some of the other players of the rugby team. Sebastian was Beatrice's on-again, off-again boyfriend and a pompous, arrogant prick.   
  
After I got some coffee and yogurt, I sat down alone by a window. I could hear Sebastian and the guys talking loudly and whistling at some girls as they walked by. Annoyed at the rudeness, I buried my face into a book and tried to tune them out.   
  
"SHERLOCK HOLMES," Sebastian's voice bellowed through the hall.   
  
I had to look up because I knew it was him. The man from last night that had, I believed, complimented me. I turned and saw Sherlock walking towards the line to get his food, completely ignoring Sebastian and the others.   
  
He is so odd, I thought. Stiff posture, always with a scowl on his face. But oddly, I found him attractive. The dark curls on his head that were more tame in this morning compared to the mess they were the night before. He was lanky- long arms and legs that seemed to take up most of his body but he walked with confidence.   
  
I watched him the entire time- looking through the food line-no doubt judging each option, and completely disregarding the rugby boys who were still trying to get his attention. As he checked out, he looked over in my direction. I gave him the warmest smile I could but he didn't smile back. He ignored me just as he did the others and walked towards a table to sit.   
  
Sebastian didn't waste any time. He walked over with two other men and surrounded Sherlock. "Stop being such a bloody prick to my girlfriend," he said loud enough for everyone to hear.   
  
"If your girlfriend wasn't such a..." I heard Sherlock start but Sebastian had already grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him up out of his chair roughly.   
  
"Don't ever talk about Beatrice that way," Sebastian warned. "Be nice or you will have to deal with us."  
  
Sherlock's face never changed. He looked completely unphased by the threats. "Let go."  
  
Sebastian hand dropped but he poke Sherlock in the shoulder. "Be nice or we will have another chat like this and it won't be so friendly."  
  
One of the rugby players tipped over Sherlock's tea, letting it spill all over his books and violin case. The men walked away and Sherlock calmly started to clean up.   
  
I hurried over with my napkins and started to help him wipe off his table. "What a bunch of bloody wankers," I said.   
  
"Americans do not use the term wankers. I assume you are trying to fit in here but it sounds quite ridiculous coming out of your mouth, Abby."  
  
I looked down at the table and stopped wiping the mess, surprised he would meet my friendliness with such annoyance. "Yes, sorry. Was only trying to be nice," I said. "And just for the record, it's Abigail. Not Abby."  
  
He sighed. "Apologies." The word came out barely audible but I heard the softness behind it. "And yes, they are wankers," he said, the word sounding even more foreign out of his mouth compared to mine.   
  
"Are you in orchestra? I don't think I've seen you there?" I asked.  
  
"No," he replied. "I play solely to help me think."  
  
"Playing helps me not to think," I said quietly as I gathered up the wet napkins in a pile.   
  
"Helps me focus," he said.   
  
"I suppose it does different things for everyone," I replied. "I should go. I have a class."  
  
"Art History?" he asked.   
  
I blinked, "Yes. How did you know?"  
  
"Your textbooks and my knowledge of the University schedule," he pointed out.   
  
I looked over four tables to my books and could barely make out "Art History" on the spine of the one textbook. "Oh. Have a good day, Sherlock," I said quietly before walking away.   
  
*******

I looked for Sherlock every time I walked on campus. I secretly hoped he would be tutoring Beatrice when I got home every night but over a week went by and I never saw him.   
  
Beatrice informed me that we would be hosting a party that evening at our house. It was bad timing because I had a difficult test the next day in my French class. I had to study but staying at home was not an option so I walked back to campus and went straight to the library. There was a hidden study area back in the history reference area that was the perfect place for me to hunker down and focus on conjugating verbs. I would have until 2 am until they kicked me and hopefully by that point, the party would be over by the time I got home.   
  
By midnight, my eyes were drooping and my brain was begging me to stop. I stood up to stretch and take a little walk around the aisles that surrounded the table in hopes of waking up. As I turned a corner, I bumped right into Sherlock.   
  
"Oh hi," I said, surprised to see him. "Doing some late night research on..." I looked down at the book he was holding upside-down. "Um, you know that book is upside-down right?"  
  
He looked down and turned it around. "Yes, I know. What are you doing?"  
  
"Studying for a French test. I needed to stretch my legs or I would have been snoring," I laughed. He was still looking at me like I was completely annoying him. Why did he have to look so angry all the time? "I'll let you get back to.... Ancient Tax Laws," I said as I read the title of the book. "Have fun."  
  
He didn't say anything as I walked away. I sat down, confused and a bit disappointed that he was yet again agitated by my existence. I opened my notebook and started to review more verbs.   
  
"Abby? Might I sit here with you?" he asked.   
  
"Abigail," I corrected and pointed to a chair. "Sure, I guess."   
  
He sat down in the chair across from me. He must have stretched out his long legs because his foot kicked mine. "Oh... I'm sorry," he apologized.  
  
"It's ok," I said, not lifting my eyes up from my notebook despite the burning need to see if he was actually reading or just staring at me which is what it felt like. Finally, I had to look and caught him, in fact, staring at me. "Is there... something wrong?" I asked.   
  
He looked down at the book but then back at me. "No. But I do have a question for you," he said. "Why do you need something to stop you from thinking too much?"  
  
I was confused at first but then I remembered our conversation about playing cello. "Ah, it's nothing," I said.   
  
"No, I want to understand," he said.   
  
I wanted to just blurt out about my abusive father and my mother who was seriously ill. That I wanted to just run away and escape this life that I hated. That even being thousands of miles away, I still had nightmares and anxiety about him and losing her. "Just stuff at home," I said. It was the only appropriate thing I could say. He didn't want to know about my life.   
  
Sherlock nodded. "I see. Does it work?" he asked.   
  
"Sometimes," I answered but was now growing uncomfortable with the line of questioning. "I don't really want to talk about it."  
  
He didn't say anything to that and turned his gaze down at the tax book and pretended to read it. I could tell by how his eyes didn't really move that he was pretending to read the book. It was a show.   
  
"What sort of thinking do you need to do that the violin helps with?" I asked.   
  
"Helps me solve complex problems," he said. "Science, math."  
  
"Makes sense," I said.   
  
"Really?" he commented, surprised I understood.   
  
"Sure, it's basically the same reason I play. Distracts your mind so you can really think of important things. In your case, it's solving problems. In my case, it's focusing on something positive instead of everything else," I said. "Either way, I understand."  
  
I glanced down at my watch and frowned. "I should head home. Hopefully the party will be broken up and I can sleep," I said with a sad laugh.   
  
"Let me walk you home," he said as he stood up while I gathered my books and put them in my bag.   
  
A pencil went rolling off the table and rolled in front of his shoe. He leaned down to grab it and handed to me. I took it from him slowly, letting my hand linger on his. "Thank you," I said, neither one of us moving until I finally took it from him.   
  
On my way home, he didn't say very much. He definitely wasn't one for small talk. He stopped just as we reached the street in front of my house.   
  
"I will leave you here," he said. "I don't think it's wise for you to be seen with me."  
  
It was such a sad thing to say. I looked up at him, "I don't care."  
  
He just stared at me like I had said something so foreign, he couldn't process it. "Right, goodnight Abby," he said.   
  
I didn't correct him. I was too busy resisting the urge to hug him. "Goodnight Sherlock."  
  
He watched me until I reached the door. I waved goodbye and it was only then that I watched him turn and walk away.   
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

A week had gone by since I had spent time with Sherlock at the library. I came to the conclusion that he wasn’t interested as I hoped he might be.   
  
Beatrice begged me to go to the pub with her and her friends. A “very interested and cute” rugby player had asked if I would be there and she thought it would be fantastic is I could meet him. I don’t know what made me agree but I did. Perhaps it was boredom or loneliness. It was more likely that I was missing Sherlock.   
  
The pub was a few blocks walk from our house. Beatrice and her friends had picked out my outfit and did my hair. I felt ridiculous in the short jean skirt and t shirt that was a size too small to “make my breasts look bigger”.   
  
But then something happened- I felt like I fit in. The other ladies were talking to me, including me. The guys were chatting me up and even danced with me several times. The rugby player that Beatrice was so keen on me meeting was named Thomas.   
  
He was the epitome of tall, dark, and athletic. He was a good foot taller than me and had broad shoulders. Tom was good-looking and funny. Definitely a catch, I thought.   
  
We had several drinks and danced like silly teenagers with the others. I felt tipsy and carefree. One drink too many though and I was wishing I hadn’t taken it so far. I needed to stop before I blacked out.The girls begged me to stay but then Tom offered to walk me home. I stumbled out with him; my mind fuzzy from the drinks. He held onto me so I wouldn’t trip.   
  
"Stupid girl can’t hold her liquor," I heard him say but was too dizzy to fight back.   
  
I stumbled as we got within a block to the house. His hand was hurting my arm. “Ow,” I complained as he practically dragged me down the street.   
  
"Stop it," he growled. "We’re almost back at the house."  
  
I felt sick to my stomach as he said it. I was just sober enough to realize I was in danger. Why did I drink so much?  
  
"Let her go."  
  
I turned my head towards the familiar voice. It was Sherlock. I squinted to see him but Tom pushed me away, causing me to tumble to the ground. I held onto my knee as Tom walked towards Sherlock.   
  
"This is none of your business," Tom said. "I was taking her home for the night."  
  
I saw Sherlock look over at me and then back up at Tom. “Walk away.”   
  
Tom made the fist move. He threw a punch which Sherlock easily avoided. I tried to watch carefully but my head was spinning and I finally just passed out.   
  
When I came to, Sherlock was carrying me. “Oh god, take me home,” I cried, scared that I had traded one monster for a different one.   
  
"Abby, shut up and relax," he said, his voice dark and serious. "I’m saving you. Tom really wasn’t the best escort for you to take you home, you know."  
  
I did know. What was worse is that I passed out again in his arms, unaware of where he was taking me. I woke up a few hours later in Sherlock’s bed. Completely dressed with a blanket covering me. He was sitting in his chair, just staring at me with his chin resting on his hands.   
  
"What happened?" I asked, my head throbbing.   
  
"You drank too much. You had the worst man I know in the world ‘escort’ you home.  How could you be so stupid, Abby? He was nearly undressing you in the alley when I stumbled across you. You were barely conscious."  
  
I closed my eyes; my head was throbbing and the news hurt like hell. “I…. I…” I stuttered but then started to sob. He didn’t move. I didn’t expect him to try and comfort me but was still surprised as I wiped my eyes that he didn’t move. He was frozen in that chair.   
  
"Thank you," I said finally. I stood up but had to balance myself by putting my hand on his headboard. "I… I’m going to go home and sleep. I’m sorry."  
  
He finally stood up but only to hand me the scarf my aunt had knitted me. “You almost lost this,” he said, his voice softer and kinder. I took it from him, my hand touching his for a moment but I quickly pulled it away.   
  
"Sherlock.." I whispered. "I’m…"  
  
"Embarrassed and scared," he said, finishing my sentence. "Abby, please promise me you won’t do that again. Please don’t go out with them again. I may not be able to save you next time."  
  
"Yes, I promise," I said before escaping out of his room and walked home.   
  
The next day I saw Tom and while he completely avoided me, I did notice a black eye and a fat lip. Had Sherlock really done that to him for me?

***

I didn’t expect to ever hear from him again. Why would he want to talk to me? I was  a stupid, reckless fool and someone as smart as him would never want to associate with someone like me.   
  
I was wrong.   
  
He was standing outside of my art history class. Jaine, a friend from class, walked with me and as we passed by, I said hi. I didn’t dare hope that he was there to see me.   
  
"Abby?" he called out and followed me down the hall.   
  
I stopped and looked at him. “Yeah?”  
  
"I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me."  
  
Jaine touched my arm and said goodbye, not wanting to interrupt us.   
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because.. I’d like to have a date with you," he said, sounding completely awkward. He walked towards me.   
  
"A date?" I asked. "Really?"  
  
He squinted his eyes at me and I knew he was thinking to himself that I was a complete idiot.   
  
"I mean… why would you want to have a date with me?" I asked.   
  
"What do you mean why? Isn’t that what two people do when they like each other?"  
  
"You…. like me? I thought you hated me," I said, impossibly confused by this entire conversation. I didn’t exactly disagree with the assertion that I liked him because it was true and he obviously was aware of it.   
  
"Don’t be stupid," he said, like his feelings were transparent and I should have been able to see them.   
  
I shook my head. “Fine. Dinner.”  
  
"Let’s go," he said and began to walk away.   
  
"Wait… right now??" I asked.   
  
"Yes. Now." he ordered.   
  
"It’s only 3 in the afternoon," I complained but followed him anyway.   
  
The pizza place that he chose was little and quiet. I watched him fidget in his seat. “I’ve never been here,” I said, breaking the silence.  
  
"Neither have I," he said, sounding annoyed.   
  
I took a deep breath. “Are you mad about something?”  
  
He tilted his head, confused and now staring at me. “Why would you ask that?”  
  
"You seem annoyed," I stated.   
  
"No." He rolled his eyes.   
  
"Ok."  
  
Not much was said until the pizza arrived and we both ate in relative silence. I didn’t know what to make of the entire situation. It was the strangest date I had ever been on. Was he even aware that he was supposed to be nice?  
  
"Can I ask you a personal question? How many dates have you been on before?" I asked.   
  
"None. This is the first proper date I’ve been on."  
  
I almost dropped my pizza. “Really? Well that explains a few things.”  
  
He scrunched up his face, annoyed with my statement. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with this date,” he said. “I’ve brought you to a restaurant, buying you a meal, having a conversation.”  
  
"True… but… you’ve barely said a word and you gave me no time to prepare."  
  
"You don’t need any preparations. You are fine as you are," he said.   
  
"Um… thank you? But what if I wanted to fix myself up a little bit beforehand?"  
  
"For what reason?"  
  
I tilted my head at him. “To be.. pretty for you… errr.. the date?”  
  
"No need to do that," he stated. There was a hidden compliment in there and maybe my heart swell a little. He liked me as I was.   
  
After dinner, we sat on a bench in the middle of the green and as the sun dipped down, I shivered as the air got colder.   
  
"You are cold," he announced.   
  
"Yes…. I’m not used to this," I admitted. "I should think about getting back soon."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Frostbite?" I laughed.   
  
"Highly unlikely."  
  
"It was a joke," I explained. "A bad joke but a joke." I put my hands together to try to keep them warm. I looked at some of the leaves blowing on the ground and felt his hand touching the top of my hands.   
  
I looked down and his hand was hovering just over them. I knew he didn’t know what to do so I finally just reached up and held his hand. I heard him inhale as I did. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Your hand is much warmer than mine.”  
  
"Yes, now I can feel why you were worried about frostbite," he said.   
  
I giggled at his joke and squeezed his hand. His hand was soft and warm but felt like it could be strong when he needed them to be.   
  
"What are you thinking about?"  
  
"That night you….um… rescued me," I admitted. "I saw Tom the next day and he had a black eye. Did you do that?"  
  
Sherlock nodded, “Yes.”  
  
"Thank you."  
  
He didn’t say anything for awhile. I always felt like he was in his own mind. “What are you thinking about?” I asked finally when it was dark and the sun had completely set.   
  
"Walking you home," he said, finally standing up.   
  
I was confused again but just went along with it. He never let my hand go, in fact, he was walking closer to me this time, our arms bumping up against each other’s.   
  
Near my house, he stopped and turned to me. “I’m going to say goodnight to you here to save you the embarrassment of someone seeing us together.”  
  
"I’m not embarrassed," I argued.   
  
"That’s very nice of you Abby but trust me," Sherlock said.   
  
"Will I see you again?" I asked, unsure if I would or if the date had gone ok in his eyes.   
  
"Of course," he stated, sounding annoyed again. "Abby?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It is customary to kiss on the first date, correct? So if I kiss you now, you won’t be cross with me, will you?"  
  
"Ummm.. no, not cross," I said.   
  
He paused, looking down at me- at my lips and my cheek, unable to decide on where to kiss. Before he moved though, I leaned up on my tip-toes and kissed him on his lips. His lips didn’t move for a second until I kissed a bit harder and I felt his hand on my back. He was frozen so I wrapped my arms around him and held him.   
  
I pulled away finally, with him still motionless. Worried I had screwed things up, I looked up at his face. “I’m sorry…” I muttered. “I shouldn’t have…”  
  
"Stop," he said as I turned around to head to the house. "It’s just… I got… nervous," he said. "I liked it."  
  
I didn’t believe him so I walked away, mortified that I had thrown myself at him like that. “Goodnight,” I called out. I was convinced that this would be the end.

***

Over the next two weeks, I had a dinner with Sherlock four times. Each time, he would randomly show up without warning and take me to the pizza place. He held my hand without asking now. I have to admit that at times, I thought he was naive and more than likely a virgin. Most guys at his age would have been anxious to get to the sex but Sherlock was not.   
  
We were balancing between just a friendship and a relationship and honestly, I was fine with either. That’s not to say I didn’t find him attractive but I enjoyed his company even if he was abrupt at times. His intellect was sexy.   
  
It was the first day of Christmas break. Almost everyone had left the day before. I was leaving for London in the next day to spend the holiday with my aunt. Sherlock appeared at my doorstep, knowing all my roommates had gone.   
  
"You leave for London tomorrow, correct?" he asked.   
  
"Yes, when do you leave for home?" I asked, unsure of where home was.   
  
"Tomorrow afternoon."  
  
"Nice, come in and have some tea with me," I offered.   
  
He hesitated before joining me. “Do you mind if we stay in tonight?”  
  
"Sure," I agreed. "We could order in later. I do have to finish packing."  
  
While the kettle boiled, Sherlock paced in the kitchen. “What’s…. what’s going on?” I asked. “You’re pacing about like… like you’re nervous.”  
  
"Abby.. I have something to say and I am unsure of how to say it."  
  
"Well, just say it," I said, confused as to what the big deal was.   
  
"We’ve been on several dates," he said. "And I know that it is customary for….things to progress… physically."  
  
"Oh. You want more," I said quietly.   
  
"Do you?" he asked and then crossed the room to get close to me.   
  
My face got hot and red from the question. “I mean… I… I’ve thought about it,” I said, my eyes focused on the tile floor.   
  
"So have I," he whispered.   
  
"Since we’re asking questions…. have you been with someone before?" I asked because I had to know.   
  
"Yes," he said. He didn’t elaborate and honestly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the dirty details. "And I know you have been with someone too."  
  
"What?… How?" I asked, mortified that he knew this.   
  
"Doesn’t matter," he said, brushing it off.   
  
We both stood there like complete idiots. I waited for him to make the first move. He just stared at me and I knew he was trying to calculate something.   
  
"Do you need your violin?" I gently teased.   
  
"What? No. The kitchen really isn’t the best place though," he pointed out.   
  
"I guess you have a point," I said and started to walk out of the kitchen. I made it halfway down the hall and turned around to see him slowly following.   
  
Once in my room, I flipped on the light and let him in. He stood there again, unsure of what to do.   
  
"Do you want some music on?" I asked. My heart was pounding with fear and how odd he was acting.   
  
"If you think it would help," he said.   
  
I wasn’t sure if it would help but it gave me something to do other than stand there awkwardly. As I started the CD player, I noticed him walking around, inspecting my room. He stopped in front of the picture of my mother and I on the beach.   
  
"Your mother?" he asked.   
  
"Yes, Key West. Home," I said, giving him a smile.   
  
"You look happy," he noted. "Your hair was longer as well."  
  
"Yes on both accounts," I said, now standing next to him.  
  
 I slowly reached over and put my hand in his. He squeezed it and brought it up to his mouth to kiss. Now, my heart was pounding for completely different reasons.   
  
"I should kiss you now," he said, letting my hand go and wrapping his arm around me.   
  
"Yes, I think that would be good," I said, waiting for his perfect lips to touch mine.   
  
He hesitated though and just stared at me for a moment. “Are you sure?” he asked, sounding timid.   
  
"Yes, I’m sure," I said, smiling up at him.   
  
He leaned down and finally gave me what I wanted- a gentle kiss. His lips were so full and lovely that they easily covered mine. His hand reached up to my shoulder then slipped to the back of my neck, cradling my neck.   
  
I moaned against his tongue as it slipped between my lips. The moan encouraged him to be braver and I was treated to his fingers sliding into my hair and playing with it as he continued to give me the best kiss I had ever experienced.   
  
"Abby," he mumbled as he pulled away his lips away from mine to kiss my neck. His fingers released my hair.   
  
I wanted to touch him, to make him feel as good as he made me feel with just kissing my neck. I placed my palm on his chest and felt him tense up. “Sorry,” I apologized and pulled back.   
  
"No…. no, it’s fine," he said taking my hand and putting it back on his chest. "I didn’t mean to… tense up."  
  
I moved my hand across his chest slowly. He was simply standing in front of me, allowing me to feel his body beneath his dress shirt. I wanted to just yank it off of him, to feel his bare skin but I kept my composure because he seemed hesitant. “Are you.. sure?” I asked. “We don’t… I mean, we don’t have to,” I whispered.   
  
"Quite sure," he whispered. "Sit on the bed."  
  
We sat down together on the edge. I turned so maybe we could kiss but he stood up again. “Maybe I should…” he started to say.   
  
"Are you going somewhere?" I asked, worried that he was now making a run for it.   
  
"No… I think I should take my shirt off," he said, looking down at me. His vulnerable expression tugged at my heart. His fingers started to unbutton his blue shirt and I could start to see the beginnings of bare skin.   
  
"I’d like that," I said, with a smile. "Should I?" I didn’t wait for an answer, I just pulled my sweatshirt over my head and threw it on the floor.   
  
His shirt was now off and he folded it over my office chair. His muscles were more defined than I had expected. My fingers ached to touch each one. He was still so very much under-control that I didn’t want to do too much too quickly.   
  
He sat back down next to me and touched my bra strap, letting it fall off my shoulder. He leaned down to place a tiny kiss on my shoulder. We kissed again, this time with less restraint and more passion. I felt his fingers caressing my back then reaching for the fastener. He didn’t struggle with it which surprised me because most guys would have fumbled around until giving up.   
  
I pulled it off, letting it drop to the floor. His eyes looked down at my breasts then back up into my eyes. I threw my arms around him then kissed him hard. I could no longer be so restrained.   
  
We ended up in a tangled, kissing mess on the bed. My concern that he didn’t know what he was doing was completely unfounded. He knew every divine spot to kiss, touch, and tease. After what felt like forever, I finally touched the top of his waistband and whispered, “Please, Sherlock.”  
  
He was a complete gentleman. I didn’t need to remind him or ask him to wear protection nor did I have to ask him to slow down. I realized later on that he was letting me take the lead to show him just how slow or fast to go.   
  
I looked up into his eyes just before we started. His breathing was heavy and his dark curls were framing his face now. “You’re so handsome,” I said, before brushing them away from his face, only for them to bounce right back.   
  
He smiled and dipped his head down, brushing his lips against mine. “And you are beautiful, Abby,” he whispered  
  
I wrapped my legs around him and as he entered me, we moaned in unison, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. His movements were slow and intimate. He’d kiss me now and then while staring deep into my eyes. I was completely entranced by his actions, his everything.   
  
It was the first orgasm with a man that I had ever had. This is what sex was supposed to be like, I thought as I saw him grow closer to his. He repeated my name over and over again until finally with one quick thrust, it ended.   
  
After he cleaned up, he returned to bed and we got under the covers, holding onto each other. His hands smoothed down my wild hair and then he sweetly kissed me on the cheek.   
"My beautiful Abby," he said quietly.   
  
"My wonderful Sherlock," I replied before kissing him again.


End file.
